


a little research is required

by lavenderet



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Blow Jobs, First Time, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Post-Canon, Wedding Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-09-24 08:14:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20355265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavenderet/pseuds/lavenderet
Summary: Worn down by years of violence and isolation, Byleth and Linhardt reacquaint themselves with the gentleness of touch.





	a little research is required

**Author's Note:**

> minor spoilers for the ending of the crimson flower route-- it's just a brief mention of the name of a major enemy group + the truth about byleth's identity, but everything else is relatively spoiler-free. 
> 
> there may be a part two to this at some point, but for now it can stand on its own :-)

Their wedding is postponed to three months later, mere weeks after they’ve rooted out those who slither in the dark. It’s a less-than-grand affair; Linhardt grimaced at the idea of having to meet with wedding planners, hence Byleth accommodated by making the ceremony small, attended only by their closest friends. Linhardt manages to keep himself awake through sheer force of will and marvelling his husband's beauty, but the excitement wears off eventually, replaced by sleepiness and a need to be alone with Byleth. 

“Go on! You deserve the rest,” Dorothea says, smirking, and Linhardt acquiesces, if only to rid himself of those knowing glances.

“Come on, Byleth,” Linhardt mumbles. Byleth makes up some excuse about how Linhardt is feeling ill and the party disperses (not until after everyone says their ten-minute long goodbyes, of course) and finally, the newlyweds find their way home. 

It’s a modest thing, provided to them by Edelgard as thanks for their services; it’s situated near the palace in case she is ever in need of their assistance, or simply their company. Fortuitously, it gives Linhardt easy access to their sprawling libraries, something that will surely prove useful for any future research. For now, though, he trudges past the piles of papers and open tomes to flop down onto their bed with a sigh. Byleth follows close by, taking a seat beside him. 

“Could you help me out of this,” Linhardt whines, tugging at his stiff collar. 

Byleth nods and reaches for the buttons of Linhardt’s shirt, popping them open one by one. Linhardt’s throat tightens the longer he stares up at Byleth, into his soft, attentive eyes. Couples traditionally have to consummate, don’t they? He searches his mind for any information pertaining to this, but ends up woefully dry. Not even the sparse books on homosexuality he happened to find in the lesser-known libraries shed any light on this topic.

Perhaps instinct will have to win out, for this. “Are you feeling all right, Byleth?” Linhardt asks carefully.

Byleth peels open the garment, shedding it alongside Linhardt’s coat. “I’m fine. A little bit overwhelmed.” He traces a line across Linhardt’s cheekbone and smiles. The kiss that follows is chaste, meant to reassure, but Linhardt tugs on the lapels of Byleth’s blazer and pulls him on top, deepening it with tongue. The heat wakes him up, makes him flush with dizziness, and the way Byleth’s breath quickens in response tells him he’s not the only one.

“Byleth,” he breathes, fumbling with Byleth’s clothes. “Take these off.” 

Byleth looks wild and confused in a way that leaves Linhardt winded, but he complies nonetheless. Linhardt finishes with the rest of his own clothing, kicking off his boots and trousers and leaving him in only his smallclothes. Once undressed, Byleth collapses in a heap next to Linhardt. They stare at each other, disheveled, red from their cheeks down to their collarbone and chests heaving. 

“Is this okay?” Linhardt asks, cupping Byleth’s jaw. Byleth leans into it and closes his eyes.

“What is ‘this’?” he asks, quietly.

Linhardt sifts his fingers through Byleth’s hair. “Whatever you want it to be, I suppose.”

“Whatever I want…” Byleth’s eyes open, and they’re as steady as Linhardt expects them to be. “I want to touch you. But I don’t know how.” 

Linhardt’s pulse is thrumming, his skin so hot he thinks it might melt off his muscles. “I don’t know, either,” he admits, hand returning to Byleth’s cheek. “But we can experiment together. This is research in its own right.” That earns him a short laugh, and smug as it makes him feel, he can’t waste another second apart from Byleth, their noses bumping in their haste to kiss again. 

For a while, they do nothing but this— tongues teasing shyly into each other’s mouths, the occasional scrape of teeth, his senses narrowed to hot breath and wetness and Byleth’s taste, intoxicating as the rest of him. A hand finds its way into his hair, pulling at the ribbon that holds up his bun. The moment it unravels, Linhardt is pressed onto his back, enveloped by Byleth’s weight until he knows of nothing but the warmth it brings.

Somehow, their movements slow even further, Linhardt caught in the receding wave. He’d be content to fall asleep just like this— wrapped up in Byleth’s scent, kissing until the light fades from the sky. But a certain part of Byleth presses into his inner thigh, and the implications make his heart burst, like every blood vessel has blossomed into a million roses. 

“Byleth,” he says helplessly. “Please. I—”

Byleth pulls away from him, eyes bright and hazy with something Linhardt has never seen before. “What do you want?” His voice comes out rough, enough to make Linhardt groan.

“I don’t know.” He bites his lip, frustration making his eyes sting. “You. I want _ you—_” 

“I’m here,” Byleth murmurs, pressing his face into the crook of Linhardt’s neck. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

Linhardt wraps his legs around Byleth’s hips, tugs him so close that his thighs strain to make space for Byleth’s body. The desire to flip him over and explore to his heart’s content singes his every nerve, but lying pliant like this, trusting his pleasure to the hands of another, is an opportunity too good to resist. Then Byleth caresses up the length of Linhardt’s sides and over the expanse of his chest, thumbing curiously over a nipple. 

“Oh,” Linhardt says, sighs, even, arching into the touch. Byleth’s face lights up at the sound. With more surety, he continues his ministrations, lowering his mouth over Linhardt’s throat, his collarbone, kissing and licking with growing hunger. Byleth has always been a creature of instinct, Linhardt thinks— instinctive on the battlefield, as well as in the classroom. It certainly serves him well in the bedroom, too.

“Do you like this?” Byleth asks, massaging the area where tension had rose in his thighs. He presses gentle kisses here and there, trailing closer to the source of his heat.

Linhardt realizes, before long, that he’s actually panting. “Yes,” he says, drifting his fingers through Byleth’s fringe. “But I must admit… I miss seeing your face.”

Byleth lifts himself so that their noses are touching, the emptiness that followed his disappearance now an old memory. Linhardt relishes this fullness, in Byleth’s undivided attention, and kisses him softly. 

“Why don’t you lay back for me?” He props himself up on one elbow, leaning over Byleth’s body. “Let others do the work for you for a change.” 

Byleth raises a brow. “Coming from you?”

“Oh, stop that.” He half-contemplates smacking Byleth with a pillow, but there are much more important matters at hand, and thus slides himself down Byleth’s body to tug at his smallclothes. Given consent, Linhardt drags the fabric down over his knees and stares intently at what is revealed, perhaps a bit too intently for Byleth’s liking, as he shifts in discomfort.

“Hmm…” He hovers over Byleth’s cock and smears a thumb over the head, spreading precum. 

Byleth groans. “Don’t…” 

“Don’t what?”

“… Look at me like that.”

Linhardt hums, dragging his hand down the shaft and making Byleth gasp. “Like what?”

Byleth chokes on his breath, eyes almost black in the dark. “D— Does it matter?”

“What do you mean? It matters _ plenty.” _ Byleth seems like he wants to protest, but Linhardt tightens his grip, robbing him of the chance. He strokes up, down, again, and again, and Byleth can only tremble, hands gripping at the sheets until his knuckles whiten. 

Though normally Linhardt would stay coolheaded for most any experiment, the sounds Byleth makes fill him with a mounting excitement, the heat in his stomach near unbearable by now. He can’t help but wonder how it would feel to taste him; he has read about oral before, but only between a woman and man. It surely couldn’t be _ that _ different. If he could only emulate those techniques he studied… 

He surrenders to curiosity and flicks his tongue over the tip, tasting salt; then, sinking his mouth down further, something so uniquely _ Byleth _that he can’t quite categorize it as anything else. Byleth gives a startled moan and looks immediately mortified at the noise, clamping his lips shut to prevent any sounds from escaping. Linhardt pulls his mouth off with a pout.

“It’s just me here,” he says, and trails his tongue down to the thick shaft and base. Byleth’s scent is strongest here; it makes him a pleasant sort of dizzy, enough to keep him lucid and wanting. “You can be as loud as you want, Byleth. I _ want _you to be loud. It’s the only way to know I’m doing well.” 

“L-Lin…” Byleth bites down on a knuckle, and oh— _ that _is certainly new, the nickname sending a fresh wave of heat down Linhardt’s spine. “Please, more.”

And who is Linhardt to deny him? He’s sure no one has heard Byleth plead like that before. _ A sight that belongs only to me, _he thinks, and feels giddy at the thought. He tucks a strand of hair behind his ear, murmurs, “As you wish,” and continues in earnest. 

Byleth moans a little louder as Linhardt tongues around the head, one hand steady at the base and the other spreading his thigh open. Linhardt can only lower his mouth halfway before his jaw starts to ache, so he contents himself with stroking the areas he can’t reach, suckling the head with fervor. The slick noises make him blush a little; past him would have wrinkled his nose at such indecency, but now all he knows is hunger, the intimacy that comes with the act.

He decides to take it one step further and releases Byleth’s thigh, shifting a hand down to massage his balls and press a thumb against his perineum, rubbing there. The response is sudden but gratifying: Byleth’s hips bucking, his eyes wrenching shut as he cries out and shakes with pleasure. 

“_Linhardt_,” Byleth hisses, straining into the gentle touch. It’s such a strange thing, having a former vessel of the goddess bending to your whim, but it instills him with power unlike anything a Crest could ever give him. “Lin, you’re— ah— _amazing_—”

Linhardt is shocked to hear himself _ whimper _at that. He moans around his mouthful and pumps harder, anything to hear Byleth speak again— 

“You’re doing so well…” Byleth’s hand brushes over the top of Linhardt’s head, threading into his hair and keeping him there, right where he belongs. “So beautiful, Lin… I’m going to…”

Linhardt lifts his head and gasps for breath, his cheek against Byleth’s hip bone as he pants shallowly. The hand that’s petting his hair travels to his cheek, brushing a thumb over his bottom lip.

“Is it tiring?” Byleth is as patient as ever, and Linhardt nuzzles his palm. Sentimentality strikes him, all of a sudden, compels him to kiss the engagement ring on Byleth’s finger, and the gesture moves Byleth enough to sit up and pull Linhardt into his lap.

“I’m sorry,” Linhardt mumbles, resting his head against Byleth’s chest. His heart drums in his ear, a reminder of the way it used to echo with nothing, leave a phantom ache in his chest when he could not feel it against his palm at the battle at Fhirdiad. He entangles his fingers with Byleth’s— looks at it, feels its warmth against his palm. Byleth has a larger hand, calloused from handling countless weapons. The hand of a destroyer. Linhardt’s hand knows only ink stains, the coarse fabric of paper, mending and healing and casting spells. A smoother, slender hand. He says, after a moment, “I suppose this will take some getting used to.”

“Mhm…” Byleth presses kiss after kiss into Linhardt’s scalp, coaxing them both to lay down. “Even so, you were incredible. Thank you.”

Embarrassingly, Linhardt feels his cheeks burn. Though he’s received praise many times from Byleth when he was a student and a soldier, this feels altogether different. Like being doused in warm water, or butterflies releasing into his stomach. Shuddering a little, he presses his face into Byleth’s neck and inhales deeply, feeling immediately calmer at the familiar scent. 

“There’s still some time,” he says, nudging Byleth’s ribs. “Let’s pick up where we left off, hm?” 

Byleth frowns. “Lin, you look tired.”

“I always look tired.” When Byleth seems unconvinced, he rolls on top of him and captures his mouth, brushing their tongues together in a soft, languid dance. It’s encouragement enough, as the hand Byleth has free smooths over his back and snakes underneath his smallclothes, gripping the supple flesh there. Linhardt moans, bucks his hips into Byleth and relishes the needy sound he receives in return. 

“Byleth…” Linhardt rests their foreheads together, eyes fluttering shut, and Byleth uses the grip he has on Linhardt’s ass to control their movements into something harder, more frantic. The layer of fabric between them poses a barrier, an enemy to be duly discarded, and so he shoves it down his thighs and slides their cocks together in a way that makes them both gasp. 

The world fades behind them. Byleth’s hot breath tickles his ear, their sweat-slicked skin sticking uncomfortably as they roll against each other, moaning, shivering with need. The hand on Linhardt’s ass slides down, close, too close to his entrance, and despite himself Linhardt spreads his legs and whines when it brushes the rim. But Byleth bypasses it, aiming instead for the spot Linhardt singled out earlier. 

It’s only a matter of time before he presses down, and Linhardt is seeing stars.

His whole body jerks, sparks flooding his body, and he muffles his cry into Byleth’s collarbone as the pleasure renders him weak. Byleth is relentless, rubbing and stroking, Linhardt a mess beneath him, so overcome he thinks his ears are ringing, and there’s someone murmuring in the silence—is it him? Or is it Byleth? 

He can’t help the tears that spring to his eyes, blurring his vision. Everything is too much, too fast, too hot and too close, but he wouldn’t dare have it any other way— so near the man he loves, so _ adored _ it makes him feel lightheaded. He would have never imagined this would come to pass as the awkward, lovesick soldier operating underneath Byleth’s command, but even then, Byleth chose _ him, _ saw a future with _ him _ not for what he could be, but for what he _ is, _and that’s— 

_ Inconceivable, _he wants to say, but Byleth is a man of miracles, and Linhardt has no reason to doubt that.

“Linhardt,” Byleth grits out eventually, his face contorted with something akin to agony as his thrusts grow more feverish, more uncontrolled against Linhardt’s hip. “Lin, I’m… I’m so close, I…”

Linhardt lifts his head, holds on tight with each frenzied movement like he’ll fall apart if he doesn’t. “Please, let me see you,” he babbles, reaching between their bodies and taking them both in hand, pumping with whatever energy he can muster. It isn’t much, but it’s enough— Byleth gives one last thrust before he comes, eyes wide and staring dazed at the ceiling as if experiencing heaven itself, robbed of breath and mind and soul. The sight alone makes Linhardt come, aftershocks thrilling through his limbs as he collapses atop Byleth’s chest.

Blearily, he wonders how to describe such a transformative moment. Like everything unwinding until it finally bursts, white-hot, all-encompassing, ascending a plane of existence much higher than anything he could have ever dreamt up. Already, the fatigue is settling in, ready to claim what it has claimed so often, but Linhardt fights it, just this once. Just so he can prop himself up and watch Byleth come down from orgasm, breathing hard and heavy with lips swollen, eyes glazed, the usual severity of his face wiped clean into simple bliss.

_ Ah, _ he thinks, fondness making his lips curl upward. _F__inally, __something worth researching._

And then, much too soon for Linhardt’s prying gaze, Byleth returns to himself; the hand still on Linhardt’s ass journeys up to steady itself on his waist, gently prying the both of them apart in order to properly assess the damage. Linhardt, sleepy and still a little high, swipes at the cum staining his stomach and pops a finger into his mouth, assessing it.

Byleth goes bright red. “L-Lin? What—”

Linhardt ignores him, humming thoughtfully around his finger. He cycles through several different opinions before settling on, “It’s not _ bad. _An acquired taste, for certain. What’s that look for?”

Byleth just stares at him. 

“Oh, come on. I did say I’d grow to understand you in full, didn’t I?” Linhardt frowns.

“That is true…” Byleth concedes, before fishing out a discarded shirt to wipe them both clean. “I don’t mind. Thank you for being so… accommodating.”

Linhardt shakes his head, tossing an arm over Byleth’s waist to pull him close. “Don’t worry about it so much. Now, can we both get some shuteye?”

Byleth chuckles, plants a kiss on Linhardt’s forehead. “Of course. Goodnight, Linhardt.”

“Goodnight.” For some reason, though, he pauses. Pushes away the creeping tendrils of sleep to blurt, “Byleth?”

“Yes?”

“I love you.” He’s said it many, many times, but the novelty of hearing Byleth say it back has yet to wear off. So he smiles a grateful smile and nuzzles in when he hears the coveted, “I love you, too,” and allows himself to drift into a slumber, Byleth’s heartbeat the one to lure him away.

**Author's Note:**

> i have an art twitter you can check out @nonnecheri if you want more fe3h content <3 pls leave a comment if you enjoyed!! i appreciate them very very much


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